


New Starts, New... Friends?

by Megane



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Companions, Friendship, Hesitation, M/M, Teaching, Trespassing, new experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megane/pseuds/Megane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is unsure of whether or not to befriend the mysterious stranger that broke into his house. And yet somehow, despite him telling the elf to leave, he ended up learning a few things and even came to like the would-be(, still might be) thief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet the Thief, er, Rogue

 

It may not have been important to many others, but he felt great knowing how to read. The world had more dimension, or so he would argue. It was a hard taste at first, but Hawke stayed true and fulfilled the romantic promise of teaching the elf how to read. Now Fenris, over fifty books strong, wanted to do something with that knowledge. He wanted to show his appreciation. He wanted to show… his thanks, his love, his gratitude! But he was afraid, just for now, to do that all physically. No, he wanted to express it in other ways. Words would not suffice, so he asked both Aveline and Varric separately what they believed was the best way to show thanks. After some teasing, they both came to the same general consensus.

 

A way to anyone’s heart is with a proper, home cooked meal.

 

And so Fenris would have to cook. But there was only one problem with that. One major problem he never before had to come to terms with.

Fenris not only didn’t know how to cook, but he barely understood these measurements that were told to him. He knew food, and he could make somewhat educated guesses, but guesses wouldn’t be good enough in this instance. Not for him. Not for Hawke either. Admittedly, the elf was getting frustrated. He placed his hands against the counter, hissing warnings and frustrations up to the Maker when there was a laugh echoing through his home.

            “Ahaha, I am surprised that someone is here. In fact, I’m a little shocked that there is something of value in this place.”

            “How did you get in here?”

            The other elf tilted his head, smirking as he shifted his weight. “I just showed myself in. You know, a little care on security might make this place a little classier.”

            “ _Why_ are you here?”

            “I must admit that I was here to take a few things. I was in the area, thought I spied something nice and, ah…” Zevran trailed off with a smile and shook his head. “Forget it. I see that I am trespassing.”

            “Yes.” And Fenris followed up with a low warning of, “You are.”

            “Well, if you’ll excuse me.”

Fenris glared at Zevran before quietly turning away, hunching over the counter again in malicious quietude. The older elf stared at the younger’s back for a little bit, smirking again as he stepped forward.

            “Perhaps you are in a bit of trouble?”

            “I thought I told you to leave.” Fenris barely turned his head to the left.

            “No, no, my friend. You did not say to leave, but I believe that I can assist you.”

Before Fenris could stand and retort, Zevran strolled up to his side. He looked at the strewn out ingredients, regarding each quietly as though judging their quality simply with his eyes. Fenris’ lips were pressed together and just as he began to speak, the other elf cut him off.

            “Mm, perhaps you are making a meal for someone?” Zevran gave Fenris a once over. “I do not believe it will be for yourself, my friend.”

            “And what makes you so sure?”

            “Well, if you were cooking for yourself, you wouldn’t be so uptight. Or perhaps you would, I cannot say for sure. However, if you truly are cooking for someone else…” The rogue tilted his head and quirked a brow.

            “That is none of your business. Furthermore—”

The other elf laughed. He actually laughed. Fenris could hardly find anything worth laughing about, but as things were, he was standing in front of a supposed madman who was just… laughing in his face. He squared his shoulders.

            “What’s so funny?”

            “Nothing, my friend. Nothing at all, but… You are so serious. I do apologize for breaking into your home, trust me. I am no man to do such a thing, well. Not without reasonable cause, but I am a man of my word. I will leave you to your darkness, soon after I help you out.”

            “Why? What’s in it for you? What could you possibly want from me?”

            “Nothing but your earnest pleasure. And the pleasure I can bring to one man is a pleasure of my own.”

Fenris made a face, feeling the anger seep out of him, leaving only suspicion and some weariness. Zevran motioned his hand, quietly stating “Come. I shall show you what I know” and pulling Fenris closer to the counter.

The Lyrium covered elf was incredibly suspicious of the other male. Though he didn’t mind the company, he couldn’t let Zevran stay without his own interrogation. Where did he come from? Why was he in Kirkwall? How could he tell the state of Fenris’ mansion? So on and so forth. Zevran answered each with ease and a touch of humour to his voice. He had very little to hide, it seemed. Fenris could still feel that there was an air of secrecy around him, but he didn’t know the questions to ask to permeate it. He left it alone, trying to follow each of Zevran’s instructions and absorb the knowledge being given to him.

At one point, Fenris stepped away to clear something and sharply turned back at the sound of hearty laughter. He saw Zevran flipping the food over the fire, grinning broadly, watching the culmination of food flip into the air. Fenris watched, a bit dumbfounded, and straightened himself up when the older elf looked his way.

            “You have many talents,” the warrior muttered under his breath, looking away and quietly admiring the smells that mixed into the air.

            “I do indeed. I have many talents from many places. You will not believe what it is that I know.”

            “And what _do_ you know?” Fenris asked, genuinely curious. And yet some small part of him regarded as a mistake.

The hearty laughter again. Zevran took one look towards the fire and pulled Fenris back towards the dusty kitchen.

            “You wish to know a story? Come and I shall tell you.”

The time passed as Zevran told his tale. Fenris lifted himself at times to check on the food, and he could still hear Zevran’s, admittedly, charming voice carry over. The older elf paused at certain questions, and danced around the details with some of his answers. They shifted the food to let it cook over the flame without being directly over it or too close. They fell into a bit of a silence; Fenris contemplated how he got into this ‘friendly’ position with an elf who broke into his home. Admittedly, it’s not the most luxurious place in Kirkwall, but that decayed corpse should have discouraged the elf from coming in. And though he got his answers on why Zevran was here… Bah, perhaps he was overthinking it. Still, he was on his guard, despite the fact that Zevran seemed to be fine enough company.

Well, he had been wrong before.

The two headed from market, and Zevran helped Fenris package up the food nicely. Fenris realised that there was an excess, and Zevran grinned, insisting that they share a meal together. The rogue opened up one of the many bottles of digestible wine there was lying about and set it on the table, giving Zevran a side-glance.

            “Zevran… This food is for—”

            “Your champion?” the older elf asked with a smirk, lifting the meat to his mouth.

            “Eh… Hawke is not… my champion. _A_ champion, perhaps. The people’s ‘champion’.”

            “Oho~? Trouble in paradise?”

            “No, that… ah…” Fenris leaned forward, pressing his elbow on the table. “Why in the World is this so hard?”

While he expected a laugh, he was surprised at the serious tone in Zevran’s voice.

            “Do you have feelings for the Champion?”

            “I… I am rather fond, yes.”

            “Then you must believe, my friend. Hawke will appreciate your efforts. Though I have helped you, it is your love and affections that have been put into this dish.”

Fenris stammered when he tried to speak. He couldn’t find the words to continue nor could he find the words to disagree. He decided to eat and let the silence fill his place. Zevran smiled to one side, showing Fenris some mercy by eating as well. They poured wine while they ate and again to a fuller extent when they were finished. Zevran shared more tales. However, this time, the details were juicier than before. Fenris was flustered, feeling some sense of bashfulness as Zevran shared the steamy details of his affairs with a very charming Grey Warden.

The younger elf drank to comfort, slumping back in his seat as Zevran remembered one particular encounter fondly.

            “And I am not saying that I have not known pleasure before,” Zevran stated with a new sense of ease, “but I have not known pleasures like that again.”

            “I can imagine,” Fenris muttered, staring down into his goblet, churning the item with drunken idleness.

He lifted his head when he heard a “So.” and saw Zevran sitting in front of him, half-seated on the edge of the table, legs crossed at the ankles. He tucked a hand under his arm, which was propped up, hand still holding his glass.

            “How is your Hawke? Have you two lain together? Do you know how ah—”

            “I… I cannot share such an experience, especially in the detail you expressed it.”

            “You don’t have to be so bashful,” Zevran teased, grinning slowly. He tipped his head, shrugging up both shoulders. “But if you do not wish to share, then I suppose I will go without your glamourous stories.”

Fenris huffed out a laugh, letting the noise exit through his nostrils. He tipped his goblet towards his mouth.

            “Perhaps one day I will have a tale to tell _you_ as well. At least, one that you would be interested in hearing.”

            “My friend,” Zevran began warmly. “I would be interested in _any_ tale you have to share with me. I am rather fascinated by you, and if I cannot have you to myself, I would be glad to share a space in your life.”

            “Are you pledging more than just your loyalty to me?”

            “Perhaps,” Zevran teased. “But in any case, the offer still stands. My ears are open and yours.”

Zevran tipped his glass towards the younger elf. Fenris contemplated the offer and settled on it. He nodded his head, tipping the almost completely empty goblet towards his companion.

            “One day.”

            “And I shall wait.”

The two slammed back their drinks, a task much easier for Fenris, and slammed their drinks down onto the table. Zevran gave a refreshed sigh, shaking his head.

            “My, that is good wine. Now. Off you go to your beloved Champion.”

            “Hawke is not…”

            “I know; I know. Not your Champion.”

Fenris gathered the prepared food, feeling that there was still an iota of warmth left to the touch. Satisfying enough. Zevran too stood to see himself out.

            “Just… drop the ‘champion’ bit, and you’ll be more accurate.”

Zevran tipped his head up, looking towards Fenris. The younger elf didn’t look back. He exited and began his way down the stairs to the front door. He could hear the familiar laugh just a ways behind him. “Of course, my friend!” The rogue’s voice echoed through the empty halls, and Fenris sighed softly. Zevran had so much energy, but… he didn’t mind. For some reason, he could get used to the other elf’s company. And he hoped he was trustworthy. Gods, he hoped he was trustworthy. The Maker knew he could use another elf to relate to, another friend to erase the treachery and weakness he had seen in this world. And if Zevran was anyone to rely on, then Fenris would like to believe he was in good hands.

He would just have to see if the other elf would accept his hesitant trust.


	2. Properly Educated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran has returned! And he has a few more things to teach, it would seem.

Fenris wasn't entirely sure what he expected out of all of this. To be honest, he had surprised himself lately with how he was acting. After Zevran had left, Fenris didn’t expect to see the shameless rogue again. He was a little disappointed, and while that was surprising in and of itself, Fenris found himself listening out for Zevran’s familiar voice. He didn’t think he would find anything, and of course, there were times when he didn’t. He was in and out of Kirkwall, and sometimes even under and around it. It wasn’t completely unexpected, but still.

 

Somehow it was still disappointing.

 

After a month or so of not seeing the elf, Fenris started seeing more of him, at least little by little. He started to see Zevran in crowds, travelling with other mercenaries or sometimes on his own. Fenris wasn’t one to chase anyone, and that much hadn’t changed. But somehow, it brought him comfort to know that the other elf was still around or at least still somewhat interested in Kirkwall. Fenris sighed through his nose, pulling away from the sight of the other elf. Well, at least he was around. That was good to know.

 

Varric waited for him at The Hanged Man. A thick stack of cards sat between two mugs: one being filled and the other empty. After a slight detour, Fenris sat himself down in front of the empty mug with a full pitcher. Varric smirked and pulled the stack of cards closer, cutting the deck and setting new sections down. Fenris rolled his shoulders, trying to relax himself as their ritual tradition began. He leaned his head against his curled hand, thumb idly brushing against his neck and just under his pointed ear. Varric pushed two stacks towards Fenris and pulled two towards himself. Fenris double tapped the right deck in front of him before reaching over and touching the other to Varric’s left. The dwarf let out a soft “Bah” and a “You never let me keep my stuff” before switching his left deck with Fenris’.

The two began collecting their cards from the center deck when a hearty laugh rolled through the tavern. Fenris side-glanced, and Varric lifted his head, chuckling too.

            “Who in Andraste’s name is that?” He shuffled his cards before slapping two down in front of the warrior. “Sounds like a cheery fellow.”

            “I know that laugh,” Fenris stated lowly, turning his head.

            “Friend of yours?”

            Fenris paused and rolled a shoulder. “I suppose you can say that.”

            Varric grinned, reaching forward and double tapping the elf’s right stack of cards. “Ooh, look at you. Making friends behind our backs. I wonder if I should be a little jealous.”

            Fenris scoffed, turning his head back and pulling two cards from his deck. “Hardly.”

He stood up after sliding the two cards face down to the dwarf, who flipped them over and nodded his head, lips tugging down and brows lifting.

Zevran felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around, grinning at the other elf.

            “Are you surprised to see me here?” the rogue teased, drawing his mug towards himself.

            “You could say that. What brings you to the pub?”

            “A nice drink and what I am hoping will be a good time.”

            Fenris huffed out a laugh and replied, “Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”

He motioned for the other elf to follow him back to his table and let Varric and Zevran get acquainted with each other. They continued their card game, and Fenris was actually rather glad that Zevran was as sociable as he was. The rogue elf talked trade with the rogue dwarf, who fondly boasted about Bianca. At one point, the game was paused as Varric talked about Bianca’s specs, describing them as he would a fine woman. Zevran listened, as did Fenris. The only difference was that Fenris drank in silent contentment as the two rogues went back and forth about a crossbow. Time passed, but Fenris wasn’t sure how much. He just knew that it was stark dark outside, and he swore he could hear the soft chirp of nightlife even amongst the low bar room chatter. He swayed slightly, and Zevran clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him brotherly before looking to Varric.

            “I believe I should call a rain check on your game,” he began. “I need to take this fine man home, you see.”

            “Take ‘im, he’s a sorry player when he’s drunk anyway.” Varric teased, waving his hand.

            “You’ll regret that next time,” Fenris swore, words more deliberate as he straightened himself up.

            Zevran chuckled. “I’m sure he will, but we must go. It is dangerous to gamble drunk, even amongst friends.”

            “Hey I won’t rob him," Varric piped up. "Well, at least not blind.”

The dwarf smirked and then bid farewell to the two elves, gathering the cards up as he laughed to himself. Zevran wrapped an arm around Fenris’ waist, making the steady climb to the warrior’s mansion.

 

An amused woman in a cart showed mercy to them both and let them take a ride to Hightown. Though she was charmed by Zevran’s voice and mannerisms, she broke the spell by hurriedly dismissing the rogue. He laughed and turned to his friend who was leaning pitifully against the cart. With some difficulty, the two made it inside. Zevran greeted the familiar corpse and guided Fenris back to his bedroom.

The younger elf rolled onto his back, welcoming the comfort of his dusty bed. He coughed a bit, feeling that dust sweep up into his lungs. He waved his hand dismissively and let it fall. Zevran attempted to start a fire. It took him an hour and a trip into the market before he could properly start one. By then, it seemed as though Fenris was coming back to himself. To ground himself with his surroundings, the warrior asked for a story—any that Zevran wanted to tell.

And Zevran started to tell stories about his Grey Warden, the one that got away. He said that their meeting was not unlike his meeting with Hawke. Fenris listened with a hand over his face, breathing steadily as his head finally stopped spinning. Zevran took that as a sign that his elfin brother had fallen asleep. He smirked and turned his attention towards the fire. Figuring it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he warmed up (and also sobered up) for a bit before leaving.

            “What was it like with your Warden?” came the low, tired voice.

            “Hm~? What was that, my friend?” Zevran leaned his body back, still gazing at the flames in the fireplace.

            “Your… intimacy. How was it?” After asking, Fenris immediately sighed. “Perhaps I should mind my own business.”

            “Aaaah, you wish to know about _that_. Well, I do not mind sharing.”

            “No… I had no doubts that you would.”

Hesitantly, Fenris removed his hand, looking over towards his companion.

            “It was amazing. It was more than just sensual. There was something primal about it as well. It was raw and intense—we often disturbed the camps just from our moans alone.” Zevran laughed to himself. “The Warden’s touch was curious, sinful, never once hiding the lust that was already so mutually shared. Each encounter was like an honour, you could say.”

            “You’re exaggerating,” Fenris stated, and he smirked, propping an arm on his knee.

            “No, no. I can assure you—and when I say honour, I will tell you that it was not _me_ who was so star struck.”

            Fenris scoffed, actually amused. “Are you so _godly_ a lover?” he teased.

            “Perhaps. There is only one way to find you, you see.”

Fenris thought about it for a moment and turned his head away.

            “But Hawke…”

            “I will not tempt you; I will just say that this is for the benefit of you both. Whatever you learn, you are more than welcome to pass onto Hawke, and I know how possessive you are of that titled warrior of yours.”

            “Titled _rogue_ ,” Fenris mumbled offhandedly, not entirely sure why he did when it didn’t explicitly matter.

            Zevran grinned. “Aaah, are you attracted to rogues?”

And maybe it was the liquor coursing through his system. He wasn’t that drunk, but he was still a caravan away from being entirely sober. Fenris tilted his head, not looking in Zevran’s direction.

            “Perhaps,” he mocked, voice playful.

            A gentle laugh, the elf rough stood up. “Then, what shall I teach you?”

He came to sit on the bed, and Fenris looked at him. They examined each other, taking in features like eyes, lips, throats—accessible points of pleasure. Fenris brought his gaze back up, and Zevran did too a few shameless moments later. The elf etched in Lyrium leaned forward and pressed his lips to the other male’s. The kiss was curious and slow. He could feel Zevran smiling against his lips. When they pulled away, Fenris could feel Zevran undressing him, removing the claws from his fingers.

            “Should there be any complaints from your beloved Hawke, feel free to direct the problems to me.”

            “What, so you can pass on your ‘teachings’?” Fenris asked, undressing the rogue.

            “It wouldn’t hurt, would it? Though it would be a shame if my star student wasn’t there as well.”

Fenris smirked, and the kisses came quicker, more desperately. The moments when they paused to pull off more armour and clothing passed so quickly, and Fenris sighed openly as Zevran’s fingers wrapped around his sex. He thought to return the affection but felt another hand on his wrist. The older elf chuckled.

            “No, this is _my_ lesson. Just enjoy it.”

Fenris managed to sigh out Zevran’s name as he was guided down onto his back. He brought a hand up to his mouth, groaning against the back of it as the rogue’s hands explored him. Touching and seeking—kneading and caressing. There was a point when Zevran muttered up a compliment, and Fenris felt that silence was the only way to take it. Silence and a nicely won moan. And without thinking, he opened up to Zevran.

 

Not just sexually but emotionally.

 

Through the low groans he uttered, he talked about Danarius—starting with how this was once his mansion and slowly escalated to the mistreatment he suffered. Though Zevran paused out of courtesy to listen, Fenris brought a hand down, coaxing him to continue. This was the only other way he could talk about it, it seemed. And it was rather cathartic, talking about something painful while experiencing something pleasurable. The wounds of the story hurt a little less. Even though Hawke’s touch was ultimately one that won Fenris over, Zevran’s was just as relaxing and trusting. It was skilled and exotic. The wounds’ dull ache were massaged away by fingers and tongue.

What, tongue.

Fenris’ voice weakened as he felt an unfamiliar prod down below. He clenched his sheets, working his hips towards Zevran’s mouth as he slowly continued his story. He spoke until his body trembled, wanting and aching for something more. He wasn’t sure how he was able to continue and finish his story in this state, but he had managed. When there was nothing left to say, he leaned forward and pulled Zevran down, flipping their positions and straddling the other elf’s hips.

            “Thank you,” Zevran stated, smiling up at Fenris, “for your tale. It was truly one worth hearing.”

            Fenris hesitated a response but ended up saying, “Enough talk.” He shook his head, wanting desperately to move past it.

Not because he was in the wild throes of lust–but because it was truly a story he didn’t wish to dwell on.

The insertion wasn’t nearly as brutal as he expected. From Zevran’s stories, Fenris half-expected him to be an uncontrollable animal. But their bodies rocked; Fenris sank down onto the slender cock, trying to stifle himself. Zevran rubbed a hand over the other elf’s torso, coaxing him to be more expressive, to let it all out. And just as Fenris’ bashfulness kicked in, Zevran thrusted up hard, stealing the shame away from the younger elf.

Fenris arched and moaned, pushing his hips down onto the other elf's. Zevran guided him, teasing him gently and pushing Fenris’ hips back slightly. He encouraged the younger male to lean forward and marveled at the face Fenris made.

The elf blinked up at the wall, mouth agape as a weak moan fell from his lips. Fenris placed his hands on Zevran’s body, thrusting his hips down to match the upward rhythm. Zevran never did get to hear his name panted or moaned again, but he remembered when Fenris initially sighed his name. Aah, how lovely it was.

They kissed again, and even after Fenris’ release hit, they rolled over, and Zevran was on top, thrusting hard and fast into the lithe form. He paused, unexpectedly for Fenris, and drew his hips back slightly. The darker elf took a moment to appreciate the pause but was a bit confused as to why Zevran began to move his legs. Lower body now turned to one side, Fenris blinked up at the older male, who soon began to move. He bit down on his lip, muffling an already low moan. Zevran chuckled again.

            “Ah, yes. Now that is the face I wanted to see.”

Fenris was dazed. He was in total pleasure, but he was most certainly dazed. By the time he came a second time, Zevran came hard once. The older male smoothed a hand up and down the younger’s turned side, pulling out of him and admiring the thick mess that slowly seeped from Fenris’ form. The warrior rolled onto his back, and Zevran came to his side, laying beside him.

            “Wow,” Fenris managed after a long moment.

            Zevran propped his head up with one hand. “Satisfied?”

            “Very…”

            “Confident?”

            “I could say so. I’m just worried about…”

            Zevran shook his head and sighed. “I had hoped that I would be able to steal you away, but I suppose it was just not meant to be.”

Fenris looked to the other elf, thinking he was serious, ready to feel shame and guilt, but when he saw the smile, it all melted away. Zevran rolled a shoulder, sighing dramatically.

            “Feel free to tell Hawke and share your entire experience, yes.”

            “It had occurred to me to be honest, yes, but I fear that—”

            “You fear jealousy? Contempt? I too worry about that, for your sake, truly, but I feel that will not be the case. You have nothing to hide—and I am encouraging you to tell the truth!”

            “Why?” Fenris looked up towards the other male. “How can you parade with no shame?”

            “Because life is already _filled_ with consequences. I will make no secrets that I am out to enjoy it, and I do not want to bring down others because I live so freely.”

Fenris remembered the elf woman on Sundermount who told them of where Zevran was. Even then, he was confused at the supposed killer’s gallant honesty. Fenris smiled and shook his head.

            “I will tell.”

            “Good.” Zevran moved to lie on his back. “And remember to file all complaints with me.”

            “Don’t sound too eager,” Fenris stated, slowly sitting up.

            “Oh, and where are you going?”

            “To bathe.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 

Not that that needed to be said to him. He already made himself very much at home. Zevran laid back, smirking. Fenris needed to bathe and then he had to someplace to be. He wanted to get this off his chest as soon as possible. But first he cast one last look over his shoulder to his satisfied companion, shaking his head and wondering just what he had gotten into.


End file.
